Wings
by October Revolution
Summary: As tragedy strikes, Medic finds himself reliving his past.


The doves had always been there.

Even when the whole world was crashing down around him, Medic always had his feathered friends to turn to. He talked to them sometimes—when no one was watching, of course. They saw him at his best and at his worst, and he wouldn't have had it any other way. They did not criticize or give unwanted advice or think that he was crazy. They just watched and listened, and sometimes cooed softly in response. White-winged angels, they were. Medic's little guardian angels. And there was one in particular that the old doctor was particularly fond of—Archimedes. That one was always getting into some sort of trouble, and Medic treated him like the son he'd never had. Special food, special care, and even a little perch to himself, though Archimedes preferred to roost with the other doves.

Now, it was evening and the doves were nestling in to sleep, but Archimedes did not join them in their usual sleeping spot beside the medigun. No, he hung around Medic's desk, and the doctor regarded him with a slight amount of concern. "Archimedes? Go on." Medic coaxed, but the dove hung around stubbornly. Suddenly Archimedes swayed slightly and dropped to an awkward, off-balanced crouch. He spread his wings to steady himself and his head drooped with exhaustion. Medic was suddenly struck with a pang of worry. "Archimedes? Vhat's wrong?" The bird made no further attempt to stand, his breathing becoming labored and slow. Medic picked him up with a soft cry. "Archimedes?" Archimedes cooed slightly in response, and Medic relaxed a little. "I'll look at you. I hope you're not sick." He turned his face away, searching for the medigun, wondering if it would work on a bird—and suddenly everything went wrong at once. The dove had stopped breathing and Medic stared at him with horror. "Archimedes?" He gasped, laying the bird on the table and running for the medigun. He flicked it on, but the soft red beam simply diverted around the feathered corpse. Archimedes was gone, and for once there was nothing the doctor could do. Defeated, he slumped into his chair, tears threatening to spill over as he looked at Archimedes's still form. Resting his elbows on the table, he put his head in his hands, and the memories flooded back all at once.

_It wasn't easy being young in a depression. The economy was shot and bleeding out into France, just like little Franz's father had been during the war. Dead in a trench somewhere, and his body never came home. His mother was alone now, and his sister had vanished a year ago… But that was water under the bridge. He had to try and move forward. Maybe someday he could run away from this place, to a country where he wasn't ignored and sent out to beg for his dinner every night. Now he'd managed to acquire a loaf of bread, and he sat on one of the few park benches that had survived the war. His mouth watered, he brought it to his lips to take a bite—and suddenly there was a slight weight on his shoulder and a rush of air, and a soft velvety wing brushing his cheek, and a soft sibilant cooing, and there was a dove on his shoulder, pristine white save for a black spot on the left side of its head. It was eyeing his bread, and soon there were others nearby, snowy white nomads passing through this ruined land. "Shoo." Franz said half-heartedly, but the doves persisted. Finally he tore off a small piece of the crust and handed it to the one on his shoulder. From nowhere he remembered a name; likely out of one of the textbooks he kept and studied so avidly. "Archimedes." He murmured, and the dove was pleased, and it flew off into the soft grey sky and was gone. Soon the other doves had followed, sated with tiny crumbs and other offerings from the boy's hard-won bread. The boy watched the last dove leave into the twilight, and looked at his considerably smaller dinner, but he was not upset. There was something magical about these doves, and he would be back to this spot again soon, with bread if he could. Hopefully, they would return too._

Medic pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to blot out the images that were rushing up to meet him. He wanted to sink into blackness, to escape, to flee from this sudden pain. Death had never hurt this much. It was just a bird, right? Just a bird…

_He'd done well in life, and risen from the ashes of circumstance, and now he could go and attend a university and be a doctor. He had help and inspiration though—his own personal angel, his sweet Anne. She had brought light to his life. She was his inspiration, his muse, his purpose, and now they would be married. It would be a simple ceremony, but a beautiful one. Medic had never forgotten the doves he'd fed as a child, and he'd dreamed for years of having those birds at his wedding. He barely had any human friends—he cared mostly for science, because he knew that it was his ticket out of this place, and because the love had bloomed into a passion. The doves, though—they were always there, and even if they weren't present immediately it brought him comfort to look up into the sky and remember that even if he couldn't see them, they were out there somewhere. If he was to be married, then, he was going to have doves. No questions asked. Anne had been a bit bemused by this, but she had agreed. Anything for her dear Franz to be happy. The ceremony was well-spoken, well-written, and at the end Franz had kissed his bride and held her hand as they watched the doves released into the sky. He knew then that that would be the happiest moment of his life. And as he watched the last doves vanish into the May sky, he thought he recognized one with a familiar black spot on the left side of its head. It was likely just a trick his eyes played on him, though._

His wedding… He'd tried so hard to forget all of this and now it was all just flooding back at once. It was infuriating. Medic stood suddenly, jaw and fists clenched. He was furious for some reason. Why should he be angry? He was angry at himself, he supposed, for not being able to see that Archimedes had been sick. Had he been sick? No… The bird was just old, very old, and his heart had likely just failed. Why was he so livid? Was he upset that he couldn't keep from remembering? Sinking back down into his chair with a cry of despair, he was gripped with another flashback. Not this one. This was the one that had haunted him for so many years, the one he'd tried so hard to escape… This one… Please, not this one…

_A soldier's life was never easy, but coming home was the hardest part. The war had been horrific—he'd been a doctor and he'd seen more death than anyone else. Franz was the one that they took the ones beyond saving to. He was the last resort, the last hope. He'd seen men sliced in half, and he'd been expected to fix anything. Most of the time, he could. He was a phenomenal doctor, after all. But there were some he could not save, and he'd let them go. Sometimes he'd just been tired and starving and hopeless and he'd seen these men come in, with these injuries, and he would just let them die because death was the kindest thing for them. Soon it ceased to bother him. Death was just part of life. Sometimes it would affect him very much, though, like when his half-brother had been brought to him with both legs blown off and half his face melted into a mass of burned flesh. Franz had just talked to him the night before. Now, he was beyond saving. He held his hand and waited until the light left his remaining eyes, and cursed the Allies with every breath he took, but life had to go on. He had to just keep moving. And move he did, now. The war was over. They'd lost. All this suffering and horror had been in vain. But at least he was going home. He'd see Anne again, and they'd build a life for themselves, somewhere far away. Far away… Franz stiffened and looked out the window of the transport vehicle. The scent of burning was carried on the wind and he opened his mouth in shock. The forest where he used to sneak out to while courting Anne, the park where they'd steal kisses at twilight—it was all scorched and reduced to stumps and craters and ash. His old school was rubble, and as the truck turned the corner he could see his street—his house—not his house, please… But only blackened ash remained of his street. There was one lonely wall left standing, and Franz leapt from the still-moving truck and staggered numbly towards where his house used to be. They were going to plant roses, him and Anne. Roses… Now there was nothing left of the house or the yard or her belongings or his, save for a few cast-iron pans and a few odd pale objects. With a jolt, Franz realized what they were._

_They were bones._

_Anne's bones._

_His eyes registered the bones and, in among them, the newly dead body of a dove, likely killed by a fox or a cat. Somewhere, the young doctor could hear screaming. It came from far away, and it sounded like the screams the men in the medical tents would make while undergoing surgery. It was a scream of agony and loss and rage. And it was years later before he realized that he had been the one screaming that day._

There was nothing left to say. Nothing to say or do anymore. The flashback had left him numb and in shock, and he cradled Archimedes's body in his hands and stared blankly at the dove. He seemed so much smaller in death, and he was already growing cold. Suddenly another memory hit and Medic prayed that it would be the last. He didn't think he could take any more.

_After he'd recovered, and left the mental institutions he'd been admitted into to recover from his grief, he'd traveled everywhere. He was free, finally, like the doves, but he was numb and empty and he hated every aspect of his life. Even traveling brought him no joy. He was no longer Franz, he was Medic. Just a crazy old doctor, that was all. He had wanted to travel with Anne, but instead he was the crazy old doctor, staying in one place just long enough to earn the money to travel to the next. The grief had been overwhelming at first but soon he'd learned how to reduce his triggers, and eventually the only things that bothered him were the doves. Every time he saw one, wheeling though the air, he remembered the dead one at the house, in among Anne's bones, and he felt like breaking down all over again. He stayed out of Venice, and away from weddings, and when he saw one of the birds he'd look away and try to think of some other thing and keep his mind away from Anne. For years he wandered Europe, until one year he found himself in London. The Prime Minister was getting married, apparently, and there were going to be doves there. Insanely, Medic wanted to go and watch, and remember Anne, and maybe the pain would be better than his current emptiness. Instead he found himself sneaking around the back of the van that would carry the doves, and opening it. How silly of them not to lock it. He opened it, and threw open the lid of the box, staring down at the doves and bracing himself for the wave of shock. There was nothing, though. Just an odd feeling of freedom, of being cut loose and floating into the sky like an errant balloon. One little dove looked up at him, cocking its head and cooing softly. "Archimedes…" Medic whispered, remembering the dove in the park all those years ago. Suddenly, everything was clear. There was only one thing left to do. With an inhuman whoop of insane glee, he closed the box and the doors to the van, rushing to the driver's door and flinging the driver from his seat and driving off with the doves. He knew what to do now. He'd catch a boat, he'd go to America, get a real job, help people, heal people. And he would do it with these doves. His doves. And, he told himself, he wouldn't have it any other way. Now, he was free—free as a bird._

Medic felt sick and he swallowed hard to keep from sobbing aloud. It was no use, though, and his shoulders were shook by spasms of grief, both for Archimedes and Anne and his old life, before the war, and he wept for the loss of hope and his wife and his faithful dove Archimedes.

"Is the doc gonna be okay?" Scout whispered, staring in the lab window at Medic. Engineer sighed.

"I don't know, son. He was real attached to those doves, y'know." The Texan replied wearily. "Just give him a little time. Time heals everything." With that, he walked off down the hallway, followed by Heavy and Soldier.

"I sure hope so." Scout said, following his teammates and leaving Medic there in the darkening lab, alone with the body of his best friend.


End file.
